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RHAPSODIES OF RESTLESS FOURS. 



BY 



THE MINSTREL MAIDEN OF MOBILE. 



NEW YORK: 
C. B. NORTON, IRVING HOUSE 

MOBILE : 
CAEYER & RYLAND. 

1852. 



Entered accordiug to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1852, bv 

CHAELES B. ISTORTON, 

lu the Clerk's Office of the Distiict Court of the Southern District of Jfew York. 



Bakeb. Godwin & Co., Primteks, 

1 Spf'itce St, a: r. 







i ^ 



DENOY 



TO 

A. B. MEEK, Esq., 

OF MOBILE, 

WHOSE EYE FIRST NOTICED, AND "WTIOSE FRIENDSHIP FIRST 
APPRECIATED THESE WILD SHRUBS OF ALABAMA, 

THIS VOLUME, 

wrrn high admhiation and regaed, 

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 



*_v. 



BY 

THE AUTHOE. 



o 



CONTENTS. 



A Soliloquy, 


9 


The Hennit and Orphan, 


. 11 


Pale Face Soldier and Indian Queen, 


14 


To a Fairy, ..... 


. 16 


Laura, ...... 


18 


The Indian Captive, .... 


.20 


Do you mind when last we parted. 


22 


I Love the Balmy Summer JS'ight, 


. 25 


To the Ocean, ..... 


27 


The Eiper Years of Life are Thine, 


. 29 


EllaDee, 


31 


Okodee's Daughter, ... * 


.33 


Mary is not here, ..... 


36 


To Jeanette, ..... 


. 88 


Our Willie, . . . . . 


40 


To Lizzie, ..... 


. 42 


I Have Loved Thee as I Never, 


43 


Love's Last Eequest, .... 


. 45 


To Weeta, ...... 


46 


To a Young Friend, .... 


. 48 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



I from all on Earth would sever, 

A Little Song, , . . 

He Sleeps, ..... 

A Voice from the Wilds of Alabama, 

A Lament, ...... 

My Sandy is Far on the Sea, , 

Young Sailor's Serenade,' . . . . 

To Cousin Sidlie Therese H— 

Otwee ; or. The Dirge of the Dying Indian Girl, 

Feast I on Pleasure's Honey, , 

The Dead Musician, 

The Betrothed Maniac to her Lover in the Deep, 

Alice of the Lily-DeU, 

ThmkofMe, .... 

The CastUiau Lover to his Lady-Idol, 

The Poet to his Soul, 

To a Flatterer, 

To a Caged Canary, 

The Idol of an Idle Dream, 

Emmie, Addie, and Ittie, 

I go, but goeth not my Soul, 

The Complaint, 

Perseverance, 

Song of the Lonely One, 

The South to the North, . 

A Dirge for Mary, 

My Lost Emily, 

Lines, ..... 

To Euphradia, 

"Written in a lonely mood, 

A Sigh of the Soul for Futurity, 

To "Wasliington, 

A Valentine, 



PAGE. 

50 



CONTENTS, 



Love's Blessing, 

The Stiilor'a Farewell to his Love, 

The Buried Brother, 

The Tattler, 

To One who resembles Byron, 

Memory, .... 

Sella, The Slandered, 

The Maniac Maiden, 

Sweetest and Dearest, . 

A Sacred Thought, 

Death, .... 

To a Dying One, 

To Byron, ... 

The Peasant's Lament, 

A Wonderful Dream, . 

Lines, .... 

Night and Stars, 

Man, .... 

An Hour of Inspiration, 

Young Farmer's Lament Over Jenny, 

Deranged Monie, 

The Sabbath Day, . 

"When Death's Frozen Finger, 

The Stars, .... 

To Meeta, Slumbering, 

Lines to Miss Bremer, 

To Percy Bysshe Shelley, 

Lines Addressed to an Aged Friend, 

To The Estranged One, 

ToMalite, 

To a Humming Bird, . 

The Wedded Lovers, 

Lucy, .... 



r AG B 

118 

lU 

116 

118 

119 

122 

123 

126 

129 

180 

181 

133 

135 

137 

138 

139 

140 

141 

143 

144 

145 

147 

148 

149 

151 

153 

156 

158 

160 

162 

164 

165 

167 



yi CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

A Day Dream, ....... 169 

A Niglit in June, ...... 171 

Olo and OziUo, .173 

A Song for Cousin Sallie, ..... 175 

Okoldee and Omtako, ...... 177 

Spirit-IIome of the Minstrel Maiden, .... 179 



'^. '■ 



PREFACE. 



The author of the present volume, in committing tlicsc ef- 
fusions to the press, offers no affected apology for their ap- 
pearance. At the request of friends who have desired to pos- 
sess some of these fugitive productions, in a more accessible 
and agreeable form than the columns of a newspaper or the 
manuscript, they have been collected, and have taken then* 
present form, not without many fears upon the part of the 
author. I have never trod the proud halls of lore. It has 
not been my favored fortune to enjoy the elegant advantages 
of cultivated and polite Hterature. Nature is my school, and 
Nature is my teacher. It was in taming her birds, chasing 
her buttei'flies, gathering her flowers, and listening to her wa- 
terfalls, that I first learned to sing in trembling and uncer- 
tain numbers the thoughts and emotions that woke in my 
spirit and sought for utterance. For their monotony and 
similarity, I can only plead my youth and monotony of Hfe. 



Vin P R E P A C E . 

To the world at large, it is not presumed tliat they will be 
deemed worthy of cordial acceptance ; but it is fondly hoped 
they will not be slighted by those whase sympathies they so- 
licit, and to whom many of them have been addressed. 
Should they attract the notice of critical readei-s, I can but 
hope they will throw their shaft obliquely. 

A likeness, from a daguerreotjrpe by C. Barnes, Esq., of 

Mobile, is inseited out of deference to the desire of those 

friends who have encouraged me to make this publication, 

which would have been delayed had the author felt at liberty 

to disregard the indulgent friendship which prompted their 

request. 

J. M. H. 



POEMS. 



A SOLILOQUY. 

Within my soul there is a dream sublime, 
An embryo vision which may ne'er be born ; 

AVild as the ocean in its tempest-time, 
Sweet as the blooming di'apery of morn. 

And beauteous as this soft, southern-chme, 
When laughing April blushes sunny scorn ; 

Or the rude winter, when the mock-birds chime, 

Flowers o'er the heart, hke love's im2;)romptu rhynic. 



My soul is strong, I feel its sweeping powers ; 

It rushes on its boundaries between, 
And scatters 'round it thin and misty showers ; 

These are the thoughts which bhnd ones would have seen, 
The foliage-buds, which come before the flowers, 

But not the fruit, the germ as yet is green. , 



2 A SOLILOQUY. 

If Heaven spare me, I ^vill soon imsheatlie 

This rainbow scenery, flashing through my sonl ; 

Free as an eagle o'er the world I'll breathe — 
Free of the future's, present's, past's control, 

I'll leap to feme and proudly, nobly wi-eathe 
A name of stars 'round her immortal scroll. 



THE HERMIT AND ORPHAN 

See'st thou yon violet valley, 
Circled in with lemon bowers, 

Where the lover-breezes dally 

With the blushing maiden-flowoi-s ? 

There a sunny river splashes 
Onward to its ocean home ; 

Through its mist the hum-bird flashes, 
Like a fay through rosy foam. 

Dwelleth there a hermit olden, 
And of age his form is thin ; 

But his spirit, virtue-golden, 
Never cankeroth vrith a sin. 

There he roveth, blest and lonely. 

By temptation undefiled ; 
With an orphan daughter only. 

Beauteous, and young, and ^\ild. 



12 T n E ]] E R M I T AND O R P II A N . 

And her golden hair reposes 

On her pale and pearly shouldei*s, 

Like soft shadows on white roses, 
When the stars are pure beholders. 

Oh, she is as sweet and holy 

As some heart-remembered tune ; 

Fair as lilies in the moonlight, 
Pure as vapors round the moon. 

And she di-eameth by the fountains. 
And she danceth through the dells, 

And she sporteth round the mountains. 
Chasing buttei-flies with shells. 

And she readeth old romances 
In the breezy even-time, 

'Till her spirit, winged ^^ith fancies, 
Floateth in a crystal clime. 

Oh, she is a lovely creature. 
Shadowed never by a guile ; 

Beauty blooming in each feature, 
Virtue blushing in each smile. 

And she loves that hermit olden. 
All his words are stars to her; 



T HE HE R M I T A N D O It I' II A X . 13 

For he is her idol golden, 
She, his snowy worshipper ! 

She is a soft zephyr, winging 

Odor to the brow of care ; 
She is a sweet angel, singing 

Hopeful music to despair. 

When his moments Hnger slowly. 

Her young presence gives them wing ; 

He to her is Sabbath holy. 
She to liim is laughing spi-ing. 

There they rove 'mid nature's glories, 

Where no art inflicteth scars ; 
There sweet angels sing them stories — 

Holy stories of the stars. 

And they love the book of Jesus, 

It enbalmeth life with love ; 
And they know the God who sees us^ 

Hath a home for them alone. 

Oh, I love that hermit olden. 

And I loA'e that starry girl ! 
They to me are memories golden. 

Rainbow memories set in pearl. 



PALE FACE SOLDIER AND INDIAN QUEEN. 

SOLDIER. 

From the shadows of these moimtams, 

From the ^•apors of these fountains, 
From this snow, 
Come with me, dark Oneo ! 

Fruitless every flowery endeavor ; 

For the Indian answered ever. 
Pale face ! No ! 



QUEEN. 

Here the founts baptize the meadow, 
Here the wanior seeks the shadow, 

With his bow. 

Stay thou with dark Oneo ! 
Fruitless every flowery endeavor ; 
For the Pale Face answered ever, 

Indian ! No ! 



SOLDIER AND INDIAN QUEEN. 
SOLDIER. 

'Jo Arabia's rosy bowers, 

Wliere briglit feathers float in showei-s, 

Light as snow, 

Come with me, dark Oneo ! 
Fruitless every flowery endeavor ; 
For the Indian answered ever, 

Pale Face ! No ! 



QUEEN. 

Here magnohas tower regal, 
Here the hunter tames the eagle 

And the roe, 

Stay thou with dark Oneo ! 
Fruitless every floweiy endeavor ; 
For the Pale Face answered ever, 

Indian ! No ! 



And they parted on the morrow, 
Silent with a sullen sorrow, 

Parted slow, 

Sighing heavily and low : 
Faithless every flowery endeavor ; 
For young Cupid answered ever. 

Hymen ! No ! 



TO A FAIRY. 

Wee, wee faiiy ! 
Sing thy lonely life to nie ! 
Dost thou feast on odor airy ? 
Is thy couch a tiny, starry 
Shell which floateth throuo-h the sea ? 
Wee, wee fairy ! 
Breezy fairy ! 
Sing thy lonely life to me ! 

In the ocean dost thou slumber 
Where the coral bowei-s be ? 
Does thy wand the wavelets number ? 

Does thy breathing thrill the sea ? 
Do the sea nymphs' breezy winglets 
Wave thy tiny sparkling ringlets ? 
Bathest thou in rosy fountains. 
Laughing out from crystal mountains, 
In the sea ? 



T O A F A I II V . 17 

Weo, wse fairy, in drapery curly, 
Dancing over pebbles pearly, 
Singing- music in the sea ! 
Sit here where -the flowei-s are stany. 
Where tlie leaflets flutter airy. 
Where the star-beams braided Ije ! 

Sparkling fairy ! 
Dance an hour or two for me ! 

Happy fairy ! 

Meriy fairy ! 
Sing me something of the sea ! 



LAURA. 



INSCKIBED TO GENERAL M. B. LAMAl?, WHO CALLED " LAURA" 
HIS " LITTLE FLOWER." 



Oh, soft is the beauty of Laura, 

As a soiTOAvful dream of the sea ; 
Like a spirit veiled with moonlight, 
Is this ethereal Laura to me ! 
This angelical Laura, 
This heavenly Laura, 
This lo^'alJle Laura to me. 

Her eyes are dark, magical mirrors, 

O'ershadowed with angels and doves, 
Which wail an^d weep over the errors 

Of all her young innocence loves ; 
Of all her young innocence freshens 

With a witchery ever new ; 
Of all her ^\\\d innocence freshens 

With in\dsible breezes and dew ! 
This fairj^-like Laura, 
This seraph-like Laura, 

This Laura the star-spirits woo, 



L A C K A . 19 



Like a tendril of tremljling music, 
Her memory claspeth my heart, 
With a sweet, mysterioiLs magic 

Ever quivering around my heart ; 
With a chaste, mysterious magic 

Which sanctifies my heart ; 
With the love of a spirit I love her, 

With a love that is deep as the sea ; 
For the worshipping angels above her 
Have sent this sweet Idol to me. 
This hly-like Idol, 
This spiritual Idol, 
This hope-bearing Idol to me ! 
To woo me away. 
To charm me a\^'ay, 
From the wailing willows. 
And the sobbing billows, 
Of memory's tragical sea. 



THE INDIAN CAPTIVE. 

Oh, send me away to the forest recesses, 

Where the "svild mountain breezes sweet melodies sing. 
Where the grey speckled moss sweeps its willowy tresses. 

And where the cool wavelets gush out from the spring. 

I love not the noise and the crowd of the city ; 

I love the sweet shade of the old forest tree. 
Where the nightingale chanteth a sorrowful ditty, 

As though she was singing her sorrows to me. 

Oh, when in the silence of slumber reposing, 

When my eyes with my memory no longer are wet, 

A hundred soft \ isions, with music disclosing, 
Steal over my spirit and soothe its regret. 

I roam the broad forest all ojoro'eously yellow. 

I list the light leap of the beautiful doe. 
And feast on the berries, delicious and mellow, 

And quatf from the v, atei-s which silver-hke flow. 



THE INDIAN CAPTIVE. 21 

I roam by the side of the one who doth love mc, 
And gather -wild flowei-s to strew at her feet, 

And pray to the clouds and the stars far above me, 
Beyond whose blue pathways our forefathei-s meet. 

I list the wild wind rushing loud o'er the river, 
And shout to the storm from my rocking canoe ; 

Oh, these are the dreams of my spint forever. 
The dreams that were never o'ershaded by you. 

But mockery all is this shadow blessing*, 

This seeming relief from my foes and my chains ; 

With despair I awake from love's gentle caressing, 
To feel the rude fetters weigh cold on my veins. 

Oh, why liaxQ ye captured, and why h-dve ye bound me, 
When my heart with the beauty of nature kept chime ? 

When my spirit stood forth hke the mountains around me, 
And breathed with the forest its music sublime ? 



DO YOU MIND WHEN LAST WE PARTED ? 

Do you mind Avhen last we parted ? 

'Twas at niglit, 
When our shadows softly started 

In the light ; 
The faint wavering candle light ? 



Do you mind the night was chilling, 

And the rain, 
Like a mind half not, half willing, 

Ceased and fell again ; 
In quick showers fell again ? 



While a sad foreboding feehng 

Darkly stole, 
Like a shadow o'er the ceiling 

Of each soul ; 
Each calm and melancholy souk 



^V 11 E N LA S T W E 1' A R T ED. 23 

Do you mind the books I read you, 

And how long ; 
How you said my voice had wed you 

Unto song ; 
Soft, sweet, memory-breathing-song ? 



Do you mind that lonely even. 

Lone and last. 
When our thoughts were sadly given 

To the past ; 
The remorseful, hopeless past ? 



Thou, those farewell moments many 

Dost recall? 
Or hast thou forgotten any, 

Or them all ; 
Happily forgotten all ? 



In thy heart is there no stinging, 

Faithful bee? 
Is not memory sometimes singiuu' 

Songs of me ; 
Low', sad, w^ailing sono-s of me ? 



24 WHEN LAST WE PARTED 

Is each word whieli then was spoken 

Not a knell 
Of the heart so mdely broken 

By '^ farewell ;" 
That life-ebbino' word " farewell." 



I LOVE THE BALMY SUMMER NIGHT. 

I LOVE the balmy summer night, 
With all its stai-s and streams, 
Its music and its mellow liofht. 
Its magic and its dreams. 

When o'er the waveless sea above 

The starry vessels roll, 
As though their only port was love, 

Their only freight was soul ; 

When, from the ruins of the heart, 

A thousand vapors lise. 
And memory's phantoms meet and part, 

Like shadows on the skies ; 

When love, too waiy to her trust, 

Awakes our weary cares. 
Sweeps from the heart obli\ion's dust. 

And fills the eye with tears. 



26 THE BALMY SUMMER NIGHT 

Again we hear our aged su-e, 

In reverential tone, 
Pray to his God for more desire 

To love that God alone ! 



We see our i)ious mother kneel. 
With sweet ones b}- her side, 

And hear their lisping vespei^s steal 
Forth on the even-tide ; 

Then \^•ith a weary, world-worn breast, 

AVe sigh o'er years of care. 
And yearn for childhood's morninof rest, 
AATien grief was but a teai*. 



TO THE OCEAN. 

Bounding Ocean ! sounding Ocean ! 

To my being thou art dear ; 
For in childhood thy emotion 
Sighed strange music in my ear. 
Thou didst chill me — 
Thou didst thrill me — 
With a wild, mysterious fear ; 
And 'tis thee my restless spirit 
Moaneth evermore to hear. 

Where the dark magnolia gloometh, 

Where the vapor haunts the air, 
Where the midnight billow boometh, 
Like an outburst of despair ; 
There I wandered — 
There I pondered — 
There I scattered down my hau*, 
Shuddering at the fearful phantoms 
That my soul created there. 



28 T O T H E O C E A N. 

Oh, I love thee, lonely Ocean ! 

Memory there shall still abide ; 
For my heart 's^ith strange deAotion 
Learned a mnsic from thy tide ; 
With thy willows— 
With thy billows— 
Every pnlse within me sighed, 
And to all thy dark romances 
My wild, dreamful heart rephed. 

There I di'eamed of childhood's summei*s, 

There my spirit's wing grew strong. 
As thy waves' eternal di'ummei*s, 
Throbbed thy shelly shores along ; 
There my startled spirit glanced — 
Through the visions which entranced- 
There my soul flashed out in song ! 



THE RIPER YEARS OF LIFE ARE THINE. 

The riper years of life are thine ; 

And there is magic in thy heart, 
Which answere music unto mine, 

And sings the chorus part. 

This fascination makes me weak. 

This sympathy unnerves my strength ; 

For, if the prelude I but speak, 
Thou knowest all the leno-th. 

Gone is thy spuit's happy gnft, 
A love which sanctifies the earth. 

And whose white, dewy pinions hft 
The mortal to the immortal birth. 

Thus, in my spirit shall I love ; 

And oh ! can I be much astray, 
When thou art something from above, 

And every other is but clay ? 



30 T II E K I P E R y E A R S OF L I Y E . 

ISFo ! aiigels would not say it was wrong, 
So beauty-sainted is its shrine ; 

And all my tliouo-lits of tliee are sons; ; 
Song, star-inspired and divine. 

Earth, did not will that we should wed ; 

But Heaven willed that w^e should meet, 
And love, as memory loves her dead, 

With sorrow spiritual and sweet. 



ELLA DEE. 

Lay her where the wood-bine chngeth 

To the old magnoha tree, 
Where the breeze low music Ijringoth.. 

From the bosom of the sea ; 
With a sorro"VN^ul devotion, 

Lay her where sweet violets be. 
Where the leaves keep gentle motion 
To the breathing of the sea ; 
■ There, there lay her, 
There, there leave her ! 
Om- fair Ella ! 
Our young Ella ! 
Our lost Ella ! 
Ella Dee ! 

Ever blooming as the summer, 
Ever humming as the bee ! 

We beheved her some bright comer 
From the land where souls are free. 



32 E L L A D E E . 

Oh, she was so sweet and holy, 
Angel ne'er could lovelier be ; 
And she left us bright and slowly, 
As the sunset leaves the sea ; 
And we've lost her. 
Ever lost her, 
Our sweet Ella ! 
Our bright Ella ! 
Our young Ella ! 
Ella Dee ! 

Lay her where the long grass sweepeth 

On the bark of many a tree, 
Where the lonely A^illow weepeth 

Like a mourner by the sea ; 
She was lovel}^, she was gentle, 

As all gifted spirits be ; 
Folded in a linen mantle, 

Slumbering near the sighing sea, 
We have left her. 
Ever left her, 
Our fair Ella, 
Our young Ella ! 
Our lost Ella ! 
Ella Dee ! 



OK D EE'S D A U G HTER. 

Where the butter-flies are flitti]ii>;, 
Where the forest hhes gleam, 

An Indian-o'h'l is sittinix 
Like memory in a dream. 

A gloomy river roameth 

The shadowy retreat, 
And the chill surf slowly foameth 

Across her dusky feet. 

In bright and breezy flashes 
Soft winglets wave the air ; 

But her tear-distiUing lashes 
Are folded in despair. 

The sunset rays are slanting 

Her sable locks apart ; 
While she hnms in mournful chanting 

The sorrow at her heart. 

9 



3-1 O K O D E E ' S DAUGHTER. 

She's Okodee's daughter — 
Okodee, great and old — 

But lie sleepeth in the water, 

Which the mountain maketh cold. 



With him she hunted only, 
In the dewy dells at dawn. 

And now she rambleth lonely, 
Like a fear-bewildered fawn. 



The forest bride is glancing 

At her shadow in the spring, 
And the warrior is dancing 

Where the dark-browed chieftains sine;, 



But while they wildly wander, 
By bloom and beauty wooed ; 

Namouna loves to pondei', 
And read the sohtude. 



When the darkened valley ringeth, 
With the night-bird's boding soiiig ,; 

Still she sitteth there and siisgetli, 
Wliere Okodee sleepeth long. 



O K O D E E ' S I) A i; G II T E R . 35 

The lonely silence teemeth 

With the thoughts of buried lo\'e, 

And her weaiy spirit dreameth 
Of the hunting gi'ounds above. 



MARY IS NOT HERE. 

TO F A X X I E . 

The summer's light is on the flowers, 

Its ^Yarmtll is on the sky ; 
The fountain flingeth sunny showei^s, 

And bhds are warbhng nigh ; 
The breeze is roving through the dell, 

Its song no more is dear, 
It soundeth only like " Farewell," 

Since Mary is not here ! 

I care not now to chase the fawn, 

Not now to tame the bird, 
Since she our loveliest is gone. 

Since she no more is heard ; 
There's nought but sorrow in each face, 

E'en pleasure brings a tear ; 
Each scene is now a lonely place. 

Since Marv is not here ! 



M A K V IS NO T II E 11 E . 

Wc marked tho paleness of her cheek, 

The shadow in lier eye ; 
And often Avlien sJio tried to speak, 

She oidy lieaved a sigh ; 
And though our hearts to h?r were l«jve. 

And though she held us dear, 
The angels wanted her above — 

And Mary — is not here ! 

We wrapped the shroud around her breast. 

We took one curl away. 
And laid her graceful form to rest, 

Where southern breezes play ; 
The willow weepeth o'er her bed, 

The ocean moaneth near — 
Oh, every joy to us is dead, 

Since Mary is not here ! 



TO JEANETTE. 

Thou art young and gay, Jeanette ! 

Young and gay ! 
And thine eyes are never wet, 
For thou nightly dost forget 
Eveiy sorrow with the day ; 
Memory hath not robed thee yet, 
In a gown which flows away 
To the past, and catcheth there. 
On the nightshades of despair, 
Which with envious briars tear. 
As if jealous of their prey : 
Thou art young and gay, Jeanette ! 

Yoimg and gay ! 

Thou art young and blest, Jeanette ! 

Young and blest ! 
Oh, I beg thee, never let 
Thistles flourish in thy heart ; 



i O J E A N E T T E . 39 

Fi^r tlieir tViiit will 1>3 regret, 
And despair their reaper guest ; 
E'er ]>e simple as tliou art, 
And when deatli is in thy heart, 
Hap})ily wilt thou depart, 
Welcome pilgrim to the blest ; 
Yes ! from weary earth depart, 
To the blest ! 



OUR WILLIE. 

Wi£ERE di'oopeth the lilly, 

Where waveth the rose, 
We have left our WiUie 

In lonely repose. 

Ere sorrow had tainted 

Its innocent love, 
His spirit was sainted 

By seraphs above. 

He was fair as the flowing 

Of foam on the sea, 
When the moonbeams are throwinfj 

Soft beams o'er each tree. 

With hands too unwilhng, 

AVe folded his shroud, 
While our tears were distillino- 

Like dew from a cloud. 



O U R W I L L I E . 41 



Death cometh to sc'\er 
Our dearest away, 

To take them forever, 
To glory's briglit day, 



2* 



TO LIZZIE. 

Bright as a song-bird on a Sabbath morn, 

Warbling sweet sonnets from some blooming tree ; 

Soft as a vision of tlie moonlight born, 
Wild as a spirit roving by the sea, 

Should be the music that I sing to thee. 

The lovely language of the pleading eyes, 
Pure as the moon-rise on a southern sea, 

Seems melted music flowhig from dark skies, 
And ever softest when it flows for me ; 

Oh, I would smile thus eloquent on thee ! 

May thy young hopes still warm in fancy's sun, 
And weave their nests in future's flowery eaves ; 

Oh, mayest thou be, sweet spirit-looking one, 
A snowy thought on heaven's record leaves ; 

One of the angel reapers' chosen sheaves. 



I HAVE LOVED THEE AS I NEVER. 

A SONG. 

I HAVE loved thee, as I never 
Loved a mortal heretofore ! 

And each moment I endeavor 
To forget — but love thee more. 

When the heart its worship g•i^'eth 
Where it meets no love again, 

A dark death within it liveth, 
Which but poisons every veil]. 

• 

And thy glances are as chilling- 
Showers of ice on southern air. 

When the summer is distilling 
Balm and music every where. 

Thou hast changed affection's honey 
Into sorrow's gall and brine ; 



44 I HAVE LOVED THEE. 

Yet my soul would still be sunny, 
Cauglit it not a gloom from thine ! 

Fare tliee well ! but oli, rememl^er, 
A^Tien the spring-time lights thy way, 

Thou dost make my life December, 
AVhile it should be sunny May ! 

Should my spirit flee before 
To the angels' v.orld above, 

Sainted still 'twill hover o'er thee, 
And encircle thee ^\{th. love. 



\ 



LOVE'S LAST REQUEST. 

When I'm dying kneel beside me ; 

And 'twill soften thy regret, 
That the stern no longer chide me, 

That the loved no more forget ! 

Let thy hands be those to shroud me ; 

Like an ano-el lino-er near ; 
Let no stranger rudely crowd me, 

Gazing coldly on my bier. 

When the song-birds are retiring- 
Through the heaven-hallowed air, 

When devotion is inspirino- 

Souls with praise and heai*ts with prayer ; 

When the setting sun is flinging, 
Rosy robes o'er wood and wave, 

With a sweet and sighing singing, 
Leave me in a lonely grave ! 



TO AV E E T A . 

Oh, when I look upon those eyes, 
Each is so Hke a laughing gem, 

I almost fancy paradise 

Has showered all its hght on them. 

And the sweet spirit gushing thence. 
When e'er they wildly glance above, 

Is like a ray of hope intense. 
Just softened by a shade of lo^ e. 

The fond expression of those lips, 

As pure as any pearly shell. 
Seem hope in memory's eclipse, 

Seem formed for sighing, " love, farewell !" 

Sweet Weeta! I had never thought 
Such loveliness on earth could be ; 



T O W E E T A . - 47 

Of all my spii-it ever wrought, 

It never wrought a chami like thee ! 

Souls of such witchery and woi'th 

Are never long to nature given ; 
'Twill recompense the woes of earth 

To think we'll dwell with such in hea\en ! 



TO A YOUNG FRIEND 

List thou not to hope's soft flattering, 
Heed thou not his honied lay ; 

List thou rather to the clattering 
Of the storm on winter day. 

Sio-h thou not for wealth and beautv— 
In their steps despair hath trod ; 

Let thy heart feel charms in duty, 
Let th}^ soul feel rich in God. 

Mock thou not at those who sorroAV, 
Thou may est be bereft as they ! 

There may come a storm to-morrow, 
Though there be no cloud to-day ! 

Deem thou not the future golden — - 
It is golden but to youth ! 



TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 49 

Meditate the past and olden, 

They will arm thy soul with truth. 

I would never see thee tearful, 

I would never hear thee sigh ! 
But when thou art over-cheeiful, 

Pause and think " I soon must die." 

Tread thou well with prayer and study, 

Virtue's piu-e and fruitful road, 
'Till thy spint lipeneth ready 

For the harvest morn of God, 



I FROM ALL OX EARTH WOULD SEVER. 

I FROM all on earth, would sever. 

And, a phantom of despair, 
Shriek upon the seas for ever, 

Heralding the tempest there. 

I have thoughts that will not Mter, 
They ©""er leap their prison bars, 

For ray spirit is an altar 
Burning incense to the stai*s. 

And though fate exhaust her quivers, 
Though my soul be wrecked in youth, 

It will dash its thundering rivei-s 
Down the precipice of truth. 

When will this wild dream be ended ? 

When this tragedy be done ? 
Not till I from earth have wended 

Like a shadow from the sun. 



A LITTLE SONG. 

TO ONE WHOSE WITCHERY IS A SWEET SNARE. 

Like the sunshine in the winter, 
When it playeth on the trees ; 

Or a rose bush of the summer, 
Breathing odor to the breeze ; 

Or a sound of distant music. 

Melting softly o'er the sea ; 
Is the magic-breathing memory 

That inspires me with thee ! 

In my heart a flower bloomoth, 
E'er the same in cloud or sun ; 

And as faithfully perfumeth 
Every breeze it sports upon. 

Yes ! it blossoraeth each hour, 

Fair and fragrant as can be ; 
And that bloom is friendship's flower. 

And it blossometh for thee ! 



HE SLEEPS.* 

He sleeps Avhere the mocking-birds swoo})ing, 

Cliant requiems o\'er his head ; 
Where the flowers above him are looping, 

As though they were lovingly wed. 

AVhere the river's low music is ladino- 
The breeze, as it sports oVr his bed, 

And so solemn its soft serenadino;. 
It seemeth a voice of the dead. 

He sleeps where the rich south is glowino-, 
Where the sun ripeneth hearts into love ; 

For its beams are so bright, they seem flowing 
From the eyes of the angels above. 

He sleeps where the white balmy myi'tle 
Thrills soft in the rose-scented breeze ; 

Where the coo of the sorrowful turtle 
Siirhs out from the maa:nolia trees. 



IT E .SLEEPS. 53 

He sleeps where the white clouds assembling, 

Seem holding sweet concerts above ; 
Where the breeze is so soft and so trembling, 

That the atmosphere soometli in love ! 

He sleeps where the sweet south is blooming, 
Where the blossoms by light wings are pressed ; 

Oh, this is the land for entombing 
The gifted and lovely to rest. 

Ho lives where the angels keep bringing 
The young and the best from this sod ; 

And his spirit is blissfully singing 
As it roveth the Eden of God. 



A VOICE FROM THE WILDS OF ALABAMA. 

TO JENNY LIND. 

From the wild, dreamy strand 
Of this sun-tinted Sonth, 

Washed by the sea, 

The Mexican sea, 
Where inelodv flows 
From the mocking bird's month, 

Sino- I to thee ! 

Here the bright wavelets beat 
To the breath of the wind. 

And the grass waveth free, 

Softly and fi'ee, 
And the landscape is sweet 
As thee, Jenny Lind ! 

As thee ! 



FROM THE WILDS OF ALABAMA. 55 

The rich spicy flowers 
Arc wavingly bent, 

By the humming bird's wing — 

Musical wing ! 
When shimbering, I dream 
Of the sweet forest scent, 

And waking sing. 

To the sunshine and flowers, 
The birds and tlie stars, 

Thy spirit is twin — 

Glorious twin! 
Nor can the cold world, 
With its fettering bars, 

Prison it in ! 

An honor to earth, 
And a beauty to heaven, 

Here dost thoii live — 

Worthily live ! 
And what unto thee 
Is admiringly given, 

As free dost thou give. 

Thou hast talent and genius, 

Thou has worship and fame. 
Beauty and art — 

Eloquent art ! 



56 FROM THE WILDS OF ALABAMA 

But the noblest rain-bow 
That circles thy name, 
Is thy innocent heart ! 

The lano-nishino- heads 
Of the sun-flower tree, 

Incline to the sun. 

The inspiring sun ! 
And our spirits' weak tendrils 
Are wreathing to thee, 

Bright central one ! 

Oh, long mayest thou live. 
As an honor to time, 

A balm to its woes — 

Its sufferers' woes — 
And water our hearts 
With floods from the chmo 

Where angels repose ! 

And when the cold shadow 
Of death chills thine eyes, 

And thy life breath is given — - 

Prayerfully given — 
May spirits with music 
Float down from the skies, 

And wino" thee to heaven. 



A LAMENT. 

The fleeting moments teach 
That we hke them must fly ; 

All nature has a speech 

That crieth, " thou must die." 

The morning's rosy glow, 
And even's pui-ple gloom, 

And the breezes to and fi*o. 
But prophecy the tomb. 

Life seems a honied store. 
Distilled from flowers above, 

And we may worship and adore. 
With all the heart's deep love. 

But in our highest bhss, 
And in our sweetest May, 

Our friends may give a parting kiss 
And cover us with clay. 



o» 



A L A M !•: X T . 

Oil, I have seen briglit tliing^^ 

Go clown into the tomb. 
While life for them was lew in Springs, 

And beauty just in bloom. 

My songs have saddened tones, 
Which giLsh from broken strings ; 

For in my heart a something moans 
O'er lost and lovely thino-s. 



O'er one who was the theme 

Of all my fancy, drew 
The sweetest and the saddest dream 

That mem or}' ever knew ; 



For when the fragrant spring- 
Strewed flowrets o'er the sod. 

Her spirit folded up its wing. 
And went "s^'ith smiles to God. 



Y/hile there's a heart to sigh, 
Or wave to heave its foam. 

There will be breezes in the sky, 
From spirits floating home. 



L A M E N T . 59 



There's always some dark thing, 

To shadow e\eiy hour, 
And there's a jealous bee to sting, 

In every sweetest flower. 

Oh, deem thou not that youth 
Will claim thee from the clay ; 

But thou, heart ! be strong in truth ! 
And thou, spirit ! pray ! 



MY SANDY IS FAR ON THE SEA. 

My Sandy is far on the sea — 

My Sandy is far on the wave — 
Oh, I fear that my Sandy "svill dee 

Where I never may look on his grave. 

He left me — 'twas in the sweet spring, 

We parted in yon blooming dale, 
When the song-bird sprang vdld on its wing, 

And the violet sweetened the gale. 

Wlien the trees in their green robes were dressed, 
When the white ewe was tinkhng her bell, 

He clasped me unto his full breast, 
And sighed me a tearful farewell. 

Four summei*s are now on the wane. 

Since I heard my dear Sandy's last tone, 

Since his vessel went forth o'er the main, 
And left me to wander alone. 



F A U O N T II E S K A . 01 

And here on this bank I recline, 

And hsten the honey boe's liuni ; 
With KUes my long locks I twine, 

And sigh for my Sandy to come. 

He said, " Jessie, soon I'll return ; 

Then we will be wedded in May, 
And live in the cot by the Inii-n, 

Contented and happy for aye." 

And I know my brave Sandy is true ; 

I know he will come to the hour ; 
For his love is my life's honey-dew, 

And he calls me his Bonny Wee Flower. 



YOUNG SAILOR'S SERENADE 

'Tis a sweet spring niglit, love, 

Soft siglis the breeze ; 
And the fair moon light, love, 

Cui'tains the trees. 
With deep emotion, love, 

Sobbeth the sea ; 
And with devotion, love, 

Sino- I to thee. 



Fountains are gleaming, love, 

Light pinions leap ; 
What art thou dreaming, love. 

Why dost thou sleep ? 
Where the clematis, love, 

Loopeth along, 
0[>en thy lattice, love, 

List to mv sono-. 



Y O U N a S A J i> (J R ' s S !■: II E N A D E . (j-'j 

Ere tlie next sun-iise, love, 

1 must dei)art ; 
Then let tliy dark cyr's, love, 

Gladden my lieart. 
Wlieii I am sailing, love, 

Over the sea, 
Memory will be wailing, love — 

Wailino- for tliee. 



'Tis thy sweet merit, love, 

Wineth my heart ; 
As a pure spirit, love, 

Lovely thou art ! 
May nought distressing, love, 

Cause thee to pine ; 
Hear my last blessing, love, 

Heaven be thine I 



TO COUSIN SALLIE THERESE H- 

LiKE the sunshine on the roses, 
In the hi'eezy summer week, 

Is the soft smile which reposes 
On the bhishes of thy cheek — 
Blushes which like music speak. 

And thy sunny soul is gifted, 

And thy heart's a laughing stream ; 

And thine eye's soft hd is lifted, 
Like the drapeiy from a dream, 
When affection is its theme. 

Since our fet sweet meeting hour, 
Life for me hath new control ; 

For thou art a favorite flower 
In the garden of my soul, 
Where sweet mem'ry's breezes roll. 



'!• O (' O r S I N 8 A h L I K . 65 

All thy words, S(j iiiidL'signiiig, 

Wliicli portray tliee as thou art. 
Like sweet jessamines are twining 

Round the columns of my heart, 

And their fragrance ne'er depart. 

Like fair tresses, gently drooping 

O'er a sweet, poetic face, 
Dreams of thee are softly looping 

Round my soul with lovely grace, 

As those heart-born words I trace. 

Tliough "svith song her heart is laden, 

Though \\'ith love it runneth o'er. 
Thy poor Cousin, Minstrel Maiden, 

Prizeth thee its dearest store, 

Now, Fair One ! and evermore. 

If her cottage home is lonely, 

It contains no lonely heart, 
For she loveth what is holy ; 

And she hateth what is art. 

And in slander takes no part. 

No ! her heart is strong with honor, 
And her soul doth proudly soar, 
3* 



66 TO COUSIN SALLIE. 

Thoiigli misfortime casts upon lier 
The deep shame of being looor^ 
And wliicli makes her hfe obscnre. 

She no fortune doth inherit, 
She doth boast no titled name ; 

But she owns a lofty spirit, 
Nought but God and Death may tame, 
For it scorneth mortal blame. 

May thy pathway wend through bowers 
Filled with music-balm and sun. 

And thy sphit's sweetest dowers 
Flow from the Eternal One, 
Till our Father's will is done ! 

And when thou art faintly breathings 
When thy pulse is fluttering low, 

May thy feeble forai, unsheathing 
The strong spirit, bid it flow 
Past the sphere of earthly woe I 



OTWEE; OR, THE DIRGE OF THE DYING 
INDIAN GIRL. 

The fawn is bounding o'er the liill, 

The lark is in the sky ; 
Otwee would gaze upcjn them still. 

But death has veiled her eye. 

The bee is humming through the dew, 

The morning-bird has sung; 
Otwee would warble music too, 

But death has chilled her tongue. 

The waves are swelling to the shore, 

Like many hearts they beat ; 
Otwee will dance to them no more, 

For death has bound her feet. 

A message the good spirits bring, 
'Tis whispering through her heart ; 

Oh, friends ! a mournful farewell sing. 
For Otwee must depart. 



68 O T W E E . 

She goeth where the step is Hght, 
To chase the red-skiu roe, 

Where summer maketh glad the sight, 
Where pale-face may not go. 

Then lay her where the soft winds he, 
Near the blue water's side — 

Beueath the dark-leaf chestnut tree 
Oh, lay the forest-bride ! 



FEAST I ON PLEASURE'S HONEY. 

A SONG. 

Feast I on pleasure's lioney — • 

Pine I on sorrow's brine — 
Throngli weather dark or siiiniy, 

Throiigli life, tliroiigh deatli, I'm tliiue ; 
Oh, should I flee above thee, 

Should death our hves untwine, 
As fond as now I love thee, 

I'll lo\'e thee when divine. 

The heart which sorrows soften, 
The heart of silent woes, 
■ Falters nor soon nor often, 

But strengthens in its tlu'oes ; 

Its love is love forever, 
In tempest or repose ; 

No change, no death can sever- 
No chano^e, no death it knows. 



^^'^''^t^B^fit'^ 



THE DEAD MUSICIAN 

Oh, softly breathe tlie heavy hoiii-s, 
Speak faintly and move slowly — 

One, who at sunrise danced o'er flowers, 
How lieth pale and holy. 

He was our fragile favored one, 

The angels' lovely chosen ; 
Oh, earthly things for him are done ; 

His sweet young life is frozen. 

A thousand bhds are on the Aving, 
From the eaoie to the hummer ; 

But he lies here a voiceless thing, 
A shadow on the summer. 

We lay our lovely one to rest, 
Where the violet peifumeth : 

The turf will press upon his breast ; 
He will not know it bloometh. 



TJIE DEAD MUHICIAN. Tl 

Oh, bring ye censers of perfume, 

And let your footsteps falter ; 
For ye are treading in the lioly gloom 

Of the soul's forsaken altar. 

Silence, Sorrow ! cease thy sighs ! 

Our gifted one is sainted ; 
For he walked the star-paths to the skies, 

Ere his snowy feet were tainted, 



THE BETROTHED MANIAC TO HER LOVER IN 

THE DEEP. 

Deep and lonely thou art sleeping, 

Lone and long ; 
I have wept for thee, till weeping 

Seemeth wrong. 

Come, when cold the storm is blowing 

O'er the sea; 
Here in linen white and flowing 

I wait thee. 

Come at midnight, when each phantom 

Wildly raves : 
We will know the dreams that haunt them 

In tlieir graves. 

While thick thunder clouds are rolling 

With slow sweep, 
We will hear their solemn tolling 

O'er the deep. 



THE BETROTHED MANIAC. 73 

Listening to their frantic chorus 

O'er the sea, 
With black billows bureting o'er us, 

Then wed me. 



ALICE OF THE LILY-DELL 

Happy, beauteous and blushing, 

Smiling over all a spell ; 
Laughter from her bosom gushing, 

Like the music from a bell ; 
Praised by en\T, loved by mahce. 
Is the sweet, poetic Alice, 

AHce of the hly-dell. 

All her heart to love is moulded, 

All her thoughts are sweetly rare ; 
Every eve, ere slumber-folded, 
She doth offer heaven a prayer ; 
Then from real 
To ideal, 
Windeth fancy's crystal stair. 

Virtue's pure and sunny mantle 
Shieldeth in her snowy name, 



A I. 1 C E O F T ]I i: I. I i. V - I) !•; L L . /O 

And lier spirit, young mu\ gentle, 
Sig-heth for no other fanir* ; 

And she cahnetli, 

And embabneth 
Many a heart with hopes the same. 

Holy spirits ! be her teachers, 
As ye ever erst have been ! 
Angels be her fair beseechers 
For the blottino; of each sin ! 
And when shrouded, 
Still unclouded, 
Take her to your home as t^^in ! 



THINK OF ME. 

When the wincVs melodious Angel's 

Thrill the trees, 
When the sunset softly lingers 

On the seas — 

Think of me ! Think of me ! 

When the vesper bell is toUing 

Slowly by, 
When the star-lit clouds are rolhng 

O'er the sky — 

Think of me ! Think of me ! 

Whereso'er ye witness anguish, 

Death, or love, 
When 3"e see a spirit languish 

For above — 

Think of me ! Think of me ! 



T 11 I N K O F M K . 77 

Let my memory e'er be blended 

With the pure, 
When into the tomb descended, 

Cold, obscure — 

Think of me! Tliink of me! 

When my spirit through yon heaven 

Roveth fi'ee. 
When a crown and lyre is given 

Unto me — 

Then, oh then, I'll think of thee! 



THE CASTILIAN LOVER TO HIS LADY-IDOL. 

The rich rosy sunset is tipping 
The emerald waves as they flow ; 

And the silvery willows are dipping 
In the murmuring music below\ 

The balm of the grove is baptizing 
The magical flow of the breeze ; 

And thy bounding gazelle is surprising 
The feathery birds from the tree. 

My gondola sporteth the river, 
My page is awaiting me there ; 

Then come, while thy long ringlets quiver 
Like wind-harjos afloat on the air. 

Oh, loveliest of Eden's sweet daughters 
That heaven could choose to reveal, 

Come, come, let us float on the waters, 
Brio;ht waters of sunnv Castile ! 



THE POET TO HIS SOUL. 

My soul ! outspread thy lofty wings, 
Leap forth on inspiration's car ; 

Sweep nature's loud harmonic strings, 
And throw the echos to each star. 

Sweep with the power of the wind, 
When first it rushes o'er the main ; 

Let thine be thoughts no words may bind, 
No spirit ever think again. 

May tempests flash across thy brow, 
Volcanoes burst beneath thy feet, 

The comets round thy path-way bow, 
And all creation's wonders meet. 

Go, search the universe all o'er, 
From highest star to lowest cave ; 

Be strong each mystery to explore, 
Be wamor, all thou see'st to 1»rave, 



80 THE POET TO HIS SOUL. 

For thou wast wrought, Oh mighty soul ! 

To scoff at nature's pretty stings, 
To scorn the body's weak control, 

And plunge into eternal things. 

Thine is a high, infinite state, 
Immortal as thy Maker, God ; 

Soon thou wilt rend this web of fate. 
And leap from natm*e's broken sod. 

Then with a tongue and hp of fii-e. 
Soar shouting to Jehovah's shrine. 

And pour o'er heaven's eternal lyre, 
Thy inspiration's power di\ane. 



TO A FLATTERER. 

Deemest thou my spirit draineth 
Every chalice flatterers bring ? 

Ko ! my free-borne soul obtaineth 
Water from a holier spring. 

I have learned that truth is quiet, 
Virtue needeth no disguise, 

Only falsehood maketh riot 
To attract the ears and eyes. 

I have seen the east look sunny, 
When a storm was in the west ; 

And the voice may flow as honey 
From a ^ice-embittered breast. 

Wherefore dost thou idly offer 
Language of all truth exempt, 

When my heart, a silent scoffer, 
Heareth thee with calm contempt ? 
4 



82 T O A F L A T T E R E R . 

Wherefore art thou idl}" fawimng, 
Wherefore smile thine eyes away ? 

"V^Hiat I do is but the dawning 
Of the spirit through the clay. 

Wherefore should I feel inflated ? 

Am I more than others are ? 
Go thou to the desolated, 

Pour thy balmy language there. 

Wherefore should my smile subject thee ? 

Wherefore is thy frown a crime ? 
Wouldst thou have my heart respect thee, 

Speak the truth and act sublime. 

I will never claim of mortal 

Ought which I would scorn to do ; 

And beneath the heavenly portal 
I will love alone the true. 



TO A CAGED CANARY. 

The hum bird floateth on radiant wing, 
Where the sun-beam seemeth dozing, 

Where breezy blossoms softly swing, 
Their honey-hearts unclosing, 

But thou pinest here a prisoned thing, 

Weary of reposing ! 

Life for them all time doth vary, 
They have all the spring, 

But thy life, poor Canary ! 

Is to sit and sing ! 

Life for thee hath no sweet moiTow ; 

Thou can'st ne'er be free ; 
Thine is a long hea\y sorrow, 

Though a bird thou be ; 
And thy j^iteous song doth borrow 
Sympathy from me ! 

Life for me all time doth vaiT, 

I have all the spring^ 
But thy hfe, poor Canaiy ! 
Is to sit and sing ! 



THE IDOL OF AN IDLE DREAM. 

His rosy life is clasped by snowy seals ; 
For in his heart a lonely angel kneels, 
Baptizing it with beauty, which eflaces 
All earthly errors ere they leave their traces. 

Like fairies tripping over pearls, his feet 

Glide with delight through the breeze-pinioned air; 

His is a beauty, spiritual and sw^eet. 

Breathing of heaven, all time, and everywhere. 

To his fine hfe, each moment is a thorn ; 
He pines on earth, but ne'er for earth w^as born ; 
Oh, heavenly glory, w^earing nature's shame ! 
Hope veiled with memory should be thy name. 

With starry thoughts, his spirit is impearled, 
Those thoughts are songs which angels sing above, 
And their warm music flow'eth o'er the world, 
Bathino; its deserts in full tides of love. 



THE IDOL OF AN IDLK DREAM. 85 

His waywardness is the extravagance 
Of a luxuriant nature, which doth pour 
Immortal billows o'er this mortal shore ; 
Immortal billows, which for e'er advance 
To that aerial God-lit Evermore. 

Stand fii'm. Oh di'eamer ! round thy name doth roll 
A dizzy whirlpool, with a rainbow smile ; 
Let not its glory sweep away thy soul, 
'Nov wreck thy heart on flattery's false Isle. 

With heaven let thy spirit still commune, 

And flash in hghtning from its frozen bars. 

Oh ! leap, young comet, through the blazing stars. 

And kneel near God, and learn of him a tune. 

Then come to earth, pure as the new-born moon, 

And pour fresh balm o'er withering nature's scars. 



EMMIE, ADDIE, AND ITTIE 

I HAD thi-ee little sister-pets, 

Tliree angels from above ; 
And two I called my mocking-birds, 

And one I called my dove. 

Tbey all vrere sweet and beautiful 
As love when bope rejoices ; 

Tbeir souls were dreaming in tbeii* eyes, 
Tbeii' bearts were in tbeir voices. 

Tbey were as radiant as tbe sun 
Wbicb sbone upon tbeir plays ; 

From eveiy eye a smile tbey won, 
From every lip a praise. 

Ob, tbey were fair and fanciful 

As moon-lit eves in June, 
And seemed tbree di'eams of poesy 

Just set to memory's tune. 



EMMIE, A D D I E , AND I 'IT 1 E . 

But when October's sighing blasts 

Gushed sobbingly around, 
We wrapped them in three Httle shrouds 

And laid them in the ground. 



87 



I GO, BUT GOETH NOT MY SOUL. 

I GO, but goetli not my soul; 

Still doth it fondly hover 
Round one whose magic might control. 

And win the world, as lover. 

I go : 'tis ^vl•ong to hnger near ; 

I know 'tis right to sever ; 
Oh, what is beauty on the bier, 

E'en though it smile forever ? 

Then, fare thee well ! our love is lost, 

My vessel saileth fleetly ; 
Soon on the ocean I'll be tossed. 

Or in it slumber sweetly. 



THE COMPLAINT. 

The lover-birds forever pour 

Their happy hearts among the flowei's ; 
Lofty magnoHas shade my door, 

And honey-suckles wreathe my bowers. 

The brooklet murmurs through the grass, 
Where golden fishes softly ghde ; 

And waving pinions, as they pass, 
Throw fleeting shadows o'er the tide. 

And yet I want a something still, 
"Wherein to be completely blest — 

A lovely something, which would fill 
This yearning vacuum in my breast. 

A heart to feel whene'er I feel ; 

An eye to share the tears I weep. 
And cheer me w^hen chill shadows steal 

Across my soul's unquiet deep. 
4* 



90 THE COMPLAINT. 

A gifted one to rove with me, 
In my lone rambles eveiy night ; 

To muse whene'er I musing be, 
And smile w^hen I express delight. 

Still must my heart alone, alone, 
Ghde in its mournful dreams along; 

It hears no voice of kindi*ed tone 
Answer its wild, comj)laining song. 

Alas ! alas ! I may not deem 

That earth has one for me to love ; 

My spirit worshipeth a dream, 
Whose only real is above. 



PERSEVERANCE. 

Hearts like steel and wills like iron 
Leap o'er mountains, sweep the skiefl. 

Nothing mortal can environ 
Perseverance fi'om its prize. 

Disappointments may assail it 
With their missiles of despair, 

Injudicious hours entail it 
Years of misery and care : 

But when fortune's smile is coldest, 
When defeat seems at the door, 

Proud, deteimined heai-ts beat boldest, 
Proud, determined spirits soar. 

Then w^e brace our nerves for danger, 
Then we probe our minds to think, 

And to every fear a stranger, 
Leap triumphant to the brink. 



92 PERSEVERANCE. 

How I scorn a coward spirit ! 

How esteem the spirit strong ! 
JN'oug'ht to me hatli greater merit 

Than contempt of fear or wrong. 

Though I Avorship the ideal, 

Though I breathe in fancy's chmo, 

I admhe the sternest real, 
If it teacheth the subhme. 



Leaping forth from natm-e's trouble, 
Pom-s my soul its floods of song. 

And whene'er misfortunes double, 
Feels no fear and heeds no wron^. 



With a proud and daring spirit, 
"Will that nothing may subdue. 

What is there I don't inherit ? 
What I may not battle through ? 

But in this determination, 

This contempt of fortune's rod, 

This exalted inspiration, 

I woidd ne'er forget my God. 



PERSEVERANCE. 93 

Let me kneel before his power, 
Let me breathe devotion's breath, 
And prepare my soul each hour 
For faith's triumph over death. 



SONG OF THE LONELY ONE 

Oh, how I mom*n my lonely fate, 
Thus parted, love, h'oin thee ! 

Why do the tardy hom-s wait. 
That bear thee back to me ? 

How can I wear a happy face, 
Or smile when tears would start ? 

How can I blend with Nature's grace, 
A lone and broken heart ? 

The breezes serenade my ear, 

With music soft and deep ; 
The fountain gusheth cool and clear ; 

Yet silently I weep. 

Yon sun is lising o'er the sea, 
He warms those mountain isles : 

Oh, eveiything is glad but me ; 
I weep while Natui'e smiles. 



SONG OF THE LONELY ONE. 95 

The birds are singing sweetly round, 

For each one has its mate ; 
The fawn skips lightly o'er the ground ; 

Then, love, why thou so late ? 

When wilt thou come, my absent one ! 

When break this cruel spell ? 
Dearer thou art to me, than sun 

To nature's darkest dell. 



THE SOUTH TO THE NORTH 

In wise union let us stand, 
Love in heart, and help in hand. 
Let not avarice command — 
Let us all be free ! 

Would we have no ill pursue ? 
"Would we ha^'e no wTong to rue ? 
Do as Washington would do — 
Be in virtue free ! 

Would we suffer every woe ? 
Would we have om- friend om- foe ? 
Would each shout to see each low ? — 
Then, then separate ! 

Let the thundeiing cannon roar. 
Let the heart's deej) current pom\ 
Even now red war doth roar — 

'■'■Ann THEE FOR THY/a^6." 



THE SOUTH TO THE NORTH. 97 

Here's the young, and here's the blest ; 
Though by beauty we're caressed, 
There's a heart in every breast. 
And those hearts are brave ! 

We are gentle when we love ; 
But in battle we will prove 
Lions, which no fear can move — 
And no power enslave ! 

We our happy lives would pour, 
We would agonize in gore. 
Ere we'd see our glorious shore 
Darkened by a wrong ! 

Let there be no cause for blood ; 
Let us stand as we have stood ; 
In harmonious sisterhood. 
Let us move along ! 



A DIKGE FOR MARY. 

Bring ye \iolets white, to lay on this heart ; 
Bring ye jessamines white, to wreathe in these curls. 

These willowy ciu'ls ; 
For the music is silent that gushed from this heart, 
And the fair fingei-s frozen which tended these curls, 

These delicate curls ; 
She was a pure spirit unprisoned by art. 

And her thoughts were pearls — 

Heavenly pearls. 

Bi-ing the odor of lemon to bathe these pale feet ; 
Bring the balm of white roses to moisten these hps — 

These sanctified hps ; 
The flowei*s no more will encircle these feet, 
And the magic is chilled on these love-breathing lips— 

These angelic lips ; 
And the spiiitual eye, so mom*nfully sweet, 

Is in rayless eclipse — 

Frozen echpse. 



A DIRGE FOR MARY. 99 

Oh bring ye her Bible — from its pages ye named her ; 
And bring ye her rosaiy ; and kneel here, and pray ; 
She loved that pm-e Prophet, its chidings ne'er blamed her^ 
And she knelt to the angels each twilight to pray, — 

"With this rosary to pray ; 
Till, through star-light and music, 
They stole down and claimed her. 
And robed her hke Jesus, 

And took her away, 

Forever away, 

To Heaven away. 



MY LOST EMILY. 

'TwAS a morning fair and sunny, 
In the balmy time of May, 

When the bees were quaffing honey, 
From the flowei's on my way, 

When the mocking-birds were singing. 
From then* bowers of perfume, 

And the radiant sky was flinging 
Over earth a sunny bloom. 

And I wandered by a river, 
Where the hhes blossom wild, 

Where the fohage fadeth never, 
Where I sported when a child. 

While I heard the wavelets beatinof, 
O'er the pebbles on the shore, 

Memory began repeating 

Dreams of one who dreams no more. 



MY LOST EMILY. 101 

One, the sweetest of all creatuies, 

With the light of heaven warm, 
Genius trembhng in her features, 

Music moving in her form. 

And I mused how she was sleeping, 

Where the briar bloometh sweet, 
'Till the tears my eyes were weeping 

Filled the flowers at my feet. 

And I mourned that she was covered 
From the bright and joyous spring, 

Ere a single shadow hovered 
O'er her spirit's sunny wing. 

Yes, my happy angel faded, 

While the summer warmed the breeze, 
While its sunny beams were braided 

O'er the foreheads of the trees. 

She was brio-hter than the dreamins: 

Of my fancy's wildest mood, 
And her memory still is streaming 

Through my spirit's solitude. 

Yes ! the rose which now is gracing 
Bower where roses ne'er depart, 



102 MY LOST EMILY. 

Memory's pencil still is tracing 
On the canvas of my heart. 

Sister! Tvherefore were we riven, 
When om* natm'es were so twin ! 

Thou art gone to smile in heaven, 
I am left to weep in sin. 

Like a flower separated 

From the -bough it bloomed npon. 
Like a wanderer isolated, 

Like a morning without sun — 

Is my heart since thou wert taken ; 

Life is but a heavy breath. 
And my soul can never waken 

From the shadow of thy death. 



LINES 

WRITTEN AFTER VISITING THE TOMBS OF SALLIE AND CLAUDIA 
LE VERT, TWO BEAUTIFUL SISTERS, WHO DIED WITHIN FIVE 
DAYS OF EACH OTHER, IN MAY, 1849. 

As wandering o'er tlie burial-ground, 

Where many eyes have wept, 
I paused where, closed from sight and sound, 

Two sweet young sisters slept. 
By each a marble mourner stood, 

With bosom cold and white. 
Which told how they were young and good, 

And angels to our sight. 
On one a wreath of hlies pale 

Was carved with beauteous art — 
Sweet prelude to the plaintive tale, 

That went unto my heart. 
And on the other, like a dream, 
' A wreath of roses smiled ; 

Both lovely emblems will I deem 

Of each sweet, gifted child. 



104 LINES. 

For they were flowers too bright to be 

To earthly bow^ere given, 
Too sweet in Nature's purity, 

For any place but heaven. 
In what a quiet, lovely sleep 

Those little dreamers rest; 
Their sainted eyes no more will weep, 

For they are with the blest. 

They were but Hlies in a storm — 

But pearls on billows cast ; 
And love stood shielding each light form, 

From death's cold, heavy blast. 
But all in vain ! those lips were chilled ; 

The swift and poisonous dart, 
Which breath and thought and feelings stilled, 

Pierced through each sinless heart. 
Then, as the uncomplaining dove 

Falls w^ounded from the skies, 
They clasped their httle hands in love. 

And closed their pleading eyes. 

Too well I love this mournful theme, 

E'en now the tear-di'ops start, 
For 'tis the real of a dream, 

Deep pictured in my heart. 
I had two sistere, young and blest, 

And they w^re all I had, 



LINES. 105 

At eve I sang them to their rest, 

At morn they made me glad. 
Alas ! there fell a freezing blight 

Upon my budding flowei's, 
They shrank and folded as to night, 

Nor oped to love's warm showei*s. 
A voiceless vigil long I kept, 

For power to speak had fled. 
And hopelessly and calmly wept. 

To see them cold and dead. 
And though four long, long yeai-s have flown, 

Since Death said we must part. 
That last sweet, plaintive smile and tone, 

Is here within my heart. 

Oh Death ! thou art a bitter foe. 

Thou claimest Natm-e's best. 
While many a weary wi-etch of woe. 

Would deem thy darkness blest ; 
Our loveliest leave our hearts in pain, 

To win our love away 
From earth and all its phantoms vain, 

Which wither while they l^lay. 
While memory kneeleth by the urn. 

Where sleeps love's sainted dust, 
'Tis meet the eye of hope should turn 

To heaven in pleading trust. 
5 



TO EUPHRADIA. 

Earth to thee is sweet and sunny, 

Nature hatli no thong ; 

All her flowere offer honey, 

All her birds a song ; 

Young Euphradia, 

Blest Euphradia, 

May thy hfe be long ! 

Love to thee is like a fountain. 

Singing down its stair, 
Wreathing up its circling rainbows 
In the sunny air ; 
Young Euphradia, 
Bright Euphradia, 
May they e'er be there. 

All thy past is bright and gentle 
As a summer sceDe ; 



TO EUPIIRADIA. 107 

O'er its balmy foliage — mantle 
Winter ne'er hath been ; 

Young Euphradia, 

Blest Euphradia, 
All is evergi'een. 

The gay future is before thee, 

Fanciful with dreams, 
Odorous with spicy flowers, 
Silvery w^ith streams ; 
Young Euphradia, 
Bright EujDhradia, 
Mayest thou find it dreams. 

But forget not thou art mortal ; 

Life is fleeting foam, 
In the sky a starry portal, 
Openeth to thy home ; 
Young Euphradia, 
Fair Euphradia, 
Earth is not thy home ! 

Oh, when life to thee is weary, 

May the angels calm, 
And in censors filled from heaven 

Bring, thee holy balm ! 



108 TO EUPHRADIA. 

Young Euphradia, 
Sad Euphradia, 
Bring tliee lioly balm ! 

And wlien darkness is before thee, 

Icy and intense, 
May warm spirits sparkling o'er thee, 
Wing and waft thee hence ! 
Young Euphradia, 
Lost Euplii'adia, 
Wino' and waft thee hence ! 



WRITTEN IN A LONELY MOOD. 

When age creeps o'er me like a chill, 
When martial hope goes forth no more, 

When fancy's wavelets all are still, 
And thought has lain aside his oar, 

May memory's flower-shaded streams 

Waft childhood back with all its songs and dreams. 

When Hfe's last trembling chord is riven, 

May some dear sainted one enfold, 
Within her warm and snowy wing, 
My oi^phan soul, poor shivering thing ! 

And pinion it with white and gold. 
And waft it to the crystal strand, 
Which sparkles round the music land, 
Of love-Ut heaven. 



A SIGH OF THE SOUL FOR FUTURITY 

Oh, I would fathom all around, 

Would breathe o'er earth a spell of love, 

And dive into that broad profound, 
That glorious ocean arched above. 

Oh, thinking long and thinking much 
Makes my young hfe too dark and deep ; 

For I the magic key would touch. 
Where God His mysteries doth keep. 

From eveiy star I seek to borrow 
Some ray that may be hght to me. 

Yet mope fore'er a thing of soitow, 
A shadow in a mystery. 

My soul is weary of its cham ; 

My heart is weaiy of its woe, 
Oh, I would die — would die, and go 

Where I may tread the blissful plain. 



^J^ WASHINGTON. 

Thy life is a gifted, 

A beautiful story, 
For thy grand spirit drifted 

On billows of glory. 

Ere deatb made tbee lowly ; 

Ere earth was without thee, 
The flame-pinioned holy 

Were flashing about thee. 

They swept from thy spirit 
All shadow and sorrow, 

And took thee to inherit 
Time's God-lighted morrow. 



A VALENTINE. 

'Tis tlie month of love and blisses, 
Happy montli of Valentine, 

Month of billet-doux and kisses ; 
May its sweetest ones be thine ! 

May'st thou wreathe the richest roses. 
Blushing in the path of love, 

While the fairies weave the posies. 
Meet for spirit hands above ! 



LOVE'S BLESSING 

May briglit birds sing o'er thee 

From every spray, 
And flowers before thee 

Spring up in thy way ; 
May kind fortune bless thee 

With all that is dear, 
And nothing distress thee, 

In thy pilgi-image here. 

And when thou art waning, 

When cold is thy heart, 
And thy spirit is paining 

With dear ones to part. 
May angels pro\ide thee 

With faith and with love. 
And whisper beside thee, 

Of dear ones above ! 



THE SAILOR'S FAREWELL TO HIS LOVE. 

Alas ! the teai-s are on thy cheek, 

And di'oop thy lashes long; 
Thy heart is fluttering and weak, 

And mine is not more strono;. 

Forebodings are within each breast, 

That we no more may meet, 
For now their pulses are suppressed, 

And now they wildly beat. 

Oh, smile that yapor from thine eye, 
And calm thy throbbing brow. 

For we must throw such feelings by, — 
They illy suit us now. 

Oh, when my yessel o-lideth soft, 

On the loud-breathing deep, 
Thou It watch the stoi-m-cloud sweep aloft, 

And pray for me, and weep. 



THE sailor's farewell. 115 

I'm going to that southern land, 

Where broad magnohas bloom ; 
Where laughing lips are lightly fanned 

By zephyrs of peifume. 

And where the sun-rays on the' air, 
Seem sparks from beauty's eyes — 

Oh, summer makes of Nature there, 
A transient paradise. 

But, lo, the moon has lit the sea ; 

One kiss, and then adieu. 
And know, where'er thy Edward be, 

His heart is still with you. 



THE BURIED BROTHER 

My feet have not bounded 
Where the young are at play ; 

My harp is unsounded, 
Since thou art away. 

All music, all beauty 

Is loveless to me — 
My heart's svreetest duty 

Is devotion to thee. 

Together we wandered, 

Together we played, 
Together we pondered. 

Sweet dreams in the shade. 

But now thou art sleeping, 

All silent and lone, 
Where the willows are sweeping, 

With sorrowful tone. 



THE BURIED BROTH ER.* Il7 

Oh, would tliat tomorrow 

Might smile on my bier ; 
For earth is all sorrow, 

Since thou art not here. 



THE TATTLER. 

A TATTLER ! liow I loatlie tlie sight ! 

A tattler ! how I loathe the name ! 
She maketh discord of delight, 

And dark'neth virtue into shame. 

A tattler ! I would doubly scorn 
To make a news-mill of my tojigue, 

And of my lips a blowing horn, 
To babble lies on old and young. 

A tattler ! what should be her food ? 

A tattler ! what should be her breath ? 
Oh, she should gorge on sei'pents' blood, 

And breathe the sick'ning stench of death. 

She wantons with the peace of earth ; 

The love of friends she buys and sells ; 
She breedeth vipers at each hearth. 

And turneth churches into hells. 



TO ONE WHO RESEMBLES BYRON. 

Thy soul is Byi'on's to create ; 

Thy heart is Bpon's to express, 
And o-ive to darkest forms of fate 

A beautiful, immortal dress. 

Thine is the flashing eye to glance 
O'er nature's time-developed lore, 

To fathom hfe's mysterious trance, 
And probe creation to the core, 

And to eternity advance 

As billows thimder to the shore. 



Nature was generous in her gift ; 

Had fortune favored thee in fate, 
That eagle soul would proudly lift 

Its pinion from all earthly weight, 
And through eternal ages drift 

A truth insphed by freight. 



120 TO ONEWHO RESEMBLES BYRON. 

Oh, there is hghtning in thy soul, 
And there is music in thy heart, 
To strike to nature's finest part, 

And blazen on the spirit's scroll. 
Truth's fire-words with angel art. 

But what thou could'st thou may'st not do, 
For penury's unhealthy den 
Has broken fancy's wing's ; 

And thou must limp, and battle through 

The thorns and reptiles which invade ; 

And e'en the leaves that ofter shade 
Are pierced with poisonous stings. 

But it is better as it is ! 

'Tis well that thou hast only thought ! 
Far happier to imagine bliss 

Than seek for it and find it nought ! 
Better to be a meny fountain, 

And sing love-lullabies to flowers, 
Than rush, the river of the mountain. 

And moan o'er desolated towei*s. 

Let virtue shield thy wayward youth ; 

Let patience arm thee to endure ; 
Let the immortal rainbow, Truth, 

Cu'cle thy soul and keep it pure. 



TO ONE WHO RESEMBLES BYRON. 121 

So, when thou slecpest cold and dumb, 
In death's pale drapery enshrouded, 

Immortal messengers may come 

And take thee where no star is clouded. 



MEMORY. 

On, memory is a pleasant thing ! 

We love the balm of withered flowers, 
Could we forget the bees that sting, 

And see the sun and feel the showers. 

But disappointments, hke a war, 
Sj^read skeletons and ruins round; 

And then- dark shadows lengthen far 
Along the futm'e's desert ground. 

We mask our woe with weary art ; 

Our eyes a warm reflection give ; 
While in the lorn and mouldering heart. 

Damp vapoi's rise, cold rejDtiles Hve. 



SCILA, THE SLANDERED 

INSCRIBED TO ALL SLANDERERS. 

Oh, light was her spirit 
As a buttei-fly's wing, 

And pure was her merit, 
As the hly of spring. 

But her beauty is wasted ; 

Her last song is hushed ; 
The sland'rer has blasted, 

And Scilla is crushed. 

Oh, why are so many 

So quick to condemn 
The erroi*s of any 

Who injm*e not them ? 

It condemneth all people 

By what it has been, 
But there's many a steeple 

'Mid the ruins of sin. 



124 SCILA, THE SLANDERED. 

There are serpents and briai-s 
To tear and betray ; 

And there are altars whose fii*es 
But welcome decay. 

Though Sella was lowly, 

She was lofty to me, 

For her nature was holy 

As snow on the lea. 

But her beauty is wasted, 

Her last song is hushed ; 
The sland'rer has blasted. 
And Scila is crushed. 

By the cold mid-night shaded. 

She kneels 'neath a jew, 
And her dark locks are braided, 
With willow and rue. 

The tempest is wrenching 
The boughs from the trees ; 

And her dark eyes are di'enching 
The cross on her knees. 

Not long did she languish 
Thus \ATildly apart, 



SCILA, THE SLANDERED. 125 

For the deep pains of anguish 
Brought death to her heart. 

Oh, where's the betrayer 

Of the fluttering dove? 
Oh, where is the slayer 

Of beauty and love ? 

She dazzles the revel. 

With the glare of her eyes, 
Where the spectres of evil 

Might darken the skies. 

The idol of beauty 

She blasts with her breath ; 
On the altar of duty 

She vomiteth death. 

Let hlies environ 

This serpent no more ! 
Go, chain her with hon. 

And drench her with gore. 

Let conscience torment her, 

And lash her with fire. 
And black horrore haunt her, 

Till with groans she expire. 



THE MANIAC MAIDEN 

Where a ravine is yawning, 
Where the sea tempests blow, 

Where the long weeds are fawning 
On the billows below, 

Once lived a pale maiden, 
The monntains above her ; 

And her heart, memory laden, 
Still dreamed of her lover. 

He was slain as a spy, 

Where the di'um thundered hoUow- 
jSTo sorrowful eye, 

'No mom-ner to follow. 

She heard of his death 
With a withering sorrow, 

Which blasted her breath. 
And made chaos of morrow. 



THE MANIAC MAIDEN. 

She flung down her tresses, 
All sweeping and black, 

And rushed to the forest 
With eyes glaring Lack. 

With frightful emotion 
She clambered the trees, 

And stormed with the ocean, 
And laughed with the breeze. 

I met her one night. 
In a wind-sighing vale ; 

Her features were white. 
And her shadow was pale. 

She fled like a spectre 
Escaped from the dead, 

No star to direct her, 
No foot-path to tread. 

She swept through the willows 
That drooped o'er the surge. 

And leapt in the billows 

Which thmidered her dirge. 

With pale hands uplifted, 
Far, far from the shore. 



127 



128 THE MANIAC MAIDEN 

Till day dawn she drifted, 
Then sank evermore. 

Unwept by devotion, 
She findeth a home 

DoAvn deep in the ocean, 
All shrouded with foam. 

The sea nymphs are veiling 
Then forms with her hair, 

And the mermaids are wailing 
O'er beanty so fair. 



SWEETEST AND DEAREST 

On, thou art the sweetest and dearest 
That God ever lent from above ; 

And thy spirit, it is the sincerest. 
That e'er gifted a heart with its love. 

I deem the fair angels have tauo-ht thee 
The witch'ry with which thou dost win ; 

From heaven I deem they have brought thee 
A magical shield against sin. 

But be thou of earth or of heaven, 
I esteem thee, I love thee, and know. 

That thou art the sweetest ere given 
To bless a j^oor mortal below. 



A SACRED THOUGHT. 

The sEglitest fault tliat stains the breast, 

If imforgiveu that erroi* be, 
Will, as a shadow be impressed, 

Eternal, on Eternity. 

Nought but the glance, the smile of God 
Those shadows unto life can draw ; 

Then let us tread as Jesus trod. 

And praise "\^ith love and pray with awe. 



DEATH. 

What is it makes us fear to die ? 

To lay these feeble fabrics down, 
And then on wings immortal fly, 

To wear the spirit's glorious croA\ii. 

What shocks the soul with fearful thrill ? 

What throws such awe u^^on the Ijreath ? 
What gives the heart so cold a chill. 

When e'er we meditate on death ? 

'Tis that we miLst neglected he, 
And there in silence darkly sleep, 

'Tis that, of all that wander by 

Our gi*aves, not one may fondly weep. 

To know the speaking eyes and lips 
Which tell of all we think or feel, 

In silence cold, in dark eclipse. 
Will move no action to reveal. 



132 DEATH. 



To know tlie heart now tlirobbius: warm. 
The pulses in their rushing play, 

Must take corruption's fearful form, 
And feed the reptiles of decay. 



We di'ead that deep dark gulf to leap — 
To cross that cold unsounded sea — 

Through that long rayless night to sleep, 
Whose morrow is eternity. 

It is the mystery beyond, 

The fear to loose, the hoj)e to win, 

Wliich makes our anxious heai*ts despond. 
And quake with doubt and burdening sin. 

To go to regions unexplored. 

Which in the dim, far distance lie, 

By nought but hope and faith assured — 
'Tis this which makes us fear to die. 



TO A DYING ONE. 

The stai-s are smiling on tliy face, 

As thoiigli they loved its mournful grace 

And quiet innocence ; 
And the soft breezes from the sea 
Come singing in, to sigh o'er thee, 

And steal like spirits thence. 

The hollow paleness of thy cheek, 
Alas ! too piteously doth speak — 

Thine is a wasted love ; 
For he who was thy being's light, 
Hath chilled and left thy soul in night, 

Till warmed above. 

The snowy vesture on thy form 
Is hea^^ng gracefully and warm 

O'er the lorn heart within ; 
Thou breathest like an angel there ; 
A lovely exile sighing prayer, 

As penitence for sin. 



134 TO A DYING ONE. 

Soon will thine eyes no more be wet ; 
Soon wilt thou all thy woes forget ; 

Thy TtTonger be forgiven ; — 
By the faint fluttei-ing of thy breath, 
I know a sure but quiet death, 

Is stealino' thee to heaven. 



TO BYRON. 

Fare tliee well, dark bird of glory ! 

Wounded eagle, proud and dread ! 
O'er thy wild and wretched story 

Oft my wayward heart has bled. 

Ne'er a joy thy spirit tasted. 
But 'twas poisoned by a sting ; 

Ne'er an hour in mirth it wasted, 
But it wore a hea\4er wing. 

She who vowed to love and cheer thee, 
For the better or the woi-se. 

Left a colder bhght to sear thee, 
Sharper venom to thy curse. 

Like the tiger, kindly cruel, 
Sporting \^^th its captive prey, 

Her false fiiendship added fuel 

To the flame that scorched thy way. 



136 T O B Y R O N . 

By a tempest madly cbifted, 
All tliy Efe was madly sjDent; 

"VVitli a stormy genius gifted, 
'Twas a storm tliat gave it vent. 

Yet a voice of true affection, 
'Stead of cursing thee astray, 

Might have charmed thee to subjection, 
Might have vs^ooed thy heart to pray. 

Oh, the Tvorld should see less blindly ! 

It should shroud thy faults apart ! 
Could a hon e'er growl kindly 

With a dagger at his heart ? 

Though thy crimes were vast and vicious, 
Christ could smile them all forgiven ; 

IS'ow j^erchance through love dehcious, 
Thine's the brighest soul in heaven. 

Fare thee well ! thouo-h all contemn thee. 
Still thy genius soai-s sublime, 

Still my spint prays to meet thee. 
Singing past the storms of time. 



THE PEASANT'S LAMENT 

When night distills her balmy dews, 

And sighing breezes softly wander, 
Fond, faithful memory loves to muse 

On the dear one who sleepeth yonder ; 
Sadly she looketh to the morn 

When by the altar we were married, 
When love's sweet flowerets sheathed no thorn, 

And hope's light pinion never tarried. 

Gayly she warbled in our cot, 
Gayly I whistled at my tillage. 

Disquietude invaded not, 

And sorrow never came to pillage ; 

Till death, who slayeth what we love. 
And makes the past so sad to ponder, 

Bore Mary's happy soul above, 

And left the shattered temple yonder. 



6* 



A WONDERFUL DREAM. 

I DREAMED tliat Dij soul was the glorious skies, 
That my heart was the thimdericg sea ; 

The flaming' planets were my spirit's eyes, 
And they flashed through Eternity. 

I thought I had power to gather the winds, 

And power to scatter them too ; 
To deluge the world with its ocean of sins. 

And the universe fashion anew. 



LINES. 

COMPOSED WHILE ADMIRING A BAND OF 
MARCHING SOLDIERS. 

As the gusty winds aroimcl them spring, 

Their banners swoop and rise — 
With a haughty flap, hke an eagle's mng 

When it sweeps the tropic skies. 

To the thunderino' throb of the hollow di'um 

They gasp convulsive breath ; 
Like marshaled lions, proudly dumb, 
With awe sublime they slowly come. 

As though they were breathing death. 



NIGHT AND STARS. 

Night ! tliou art holy — holy is thy air : 
Creation thrills with an immortal tune ; 

And the pale beams seem spirits bent in prayer, 
Kneehuo; on earth and breathino- in the moon. 

Stai-s! Stars ! what are ye ? why so faithful bum? 

AVhy rise and set, why vanish and return ? 
When we poor mortals, moulder in the shade, 

Are ye the scales in which our fates are weighed ? 



KJ 



MAN. 

Trust not man, his mind is ranging, 
Trust not man, liis heart is changing. 

As a waltz ; 
He will woo thee to deceive thee, 
He mil win thee to bereave thee, 

Then prove false. 

If thine eye soft love betrayeth, 
If thy mouth sweet magic saycth. 

He will rove ; 
When thy words and smiles are fewest, 
Then's the time that he'll be truest 

To his love. 

If he win thee by short wooing. 
He will lightly deem his doing. 

And despise ; 
Let him cage thee ^^-ith much trouble. 
He will deem thy value double. 

Doubly prize. 



142 M A N . 

And for this we may not blame him : 
What were genius, could we tame him ? 

Nothing worth ! 
We would trample his proud pinion, 
Nor allow for his dominion, 

Time and earth. 

Many a lovely one is sleeping 
Where the T^illow bough is weeping, 

Sighing long; 
Many a silent heart is bleeding, 
Many a soul to heaven is pleading : vij 

O'er then' wrong. 



AN HOUR OF INSPIRATION" 

These floods of song which o'er me roll, 

I would to earth impart; 

Eternity is in my soiilj 

And God is in my heart. 
\ 

For thoughts so eloquent and deep, 
Who may expression frame ? 

They hurry o'er me with a sweep 
That language may not tame. 

Oh, when this weak, decaying clod 
Hath breathed the spirit free. 

Then will it pour before its God 
This full Eternity. 



YOUNG FARMER'S LAMENT OVER JENNY. 

The jessamine and roses sweet 
Are blooming by tlie wall ; 

And tbere the hum-birds' pinions beat 
And there the sun-beams fall. / 

The bird which she so often fed 
Sings loud its morning strain ; 

But now my darhng Jenny 's dead, 
I'll let it go again. 

The corn is tasseled m the field, 

The grape is on the vine ; 
I care not if they richly yield, 

I care not if they pine. 

My grief rolls o'er me like a wave, 

My hope has lost her ray, 
For Jenny heth in the gra\'e. 

And joy hath fled away. 



V 



DERANGED MONIE. 

A WALKING dream, by habit taugbt, 
She wandereth from reason's yoke : 

Oh, some sharp agony hath broke 

The brittle breadth 'twixt mind and thought. 

For often from her faltering hps 
There trembles an unhappy mirth, 

Which seems the half unconcious birth 
Of some wild fancy in echpse. 

Sometimes her cold and murky eye 
Warms with a quick, bewildering hght, 

Then settles back in barren night, 
As doth a star in wintry sky. 

When midnight slumbei-s on the sea, 
She sitteth there in misty gloom ; 

Pale, spectre-like, a breathing tomb, 
She sitteth there with me. 



146 DERANGED M O N I E . 



Fearless and free of all control, 
She eliantetli some mysterious air, 

The ])hantom of that strange despau'. 
Whose heaviness has sunk her soul. 



THE SABBATH DAY. 

I LOVE to see tlie man of God 

Kneel humbly at the altar holy, 
And teach the way that Jesus trod — 
Jesus the lowly. 

I love to hear the solemn psalm, 

Roll slowly on the hallowed breeze ; 
It steals into the heart like balm 
From Eden's trees. 

I love to see the young sit by. 

And learn of Jesus' sufferings here, 
While sorrow's soft and saintly eye 
Distills a tear. 

Oh, well I love the Sabbath day ; 

Sweet spirits wander through its air, 
And woo our erring feet away 
To shrines of prayer. 



WHEN DEATH^S FROZEN FINGER. 

When Death's frozen fiiio-er 
Breaks life's chords apart, 

Thy memory mil linger, 

Like warmth 'round my heart. 

For I loved thee as brother : 

Thou did'st not betray ; 
'Twas the smile of another 

That wooed thee away. 

Less true to the myrtle, 

Is the breeze or the bee. 
Or the dove to its turtle, 

Than memory to thee. 



THE STARS. 

They say that there are planets pale 
Beyond the vapor-mantled sky ; 

But distance, a dim ^dewless vale, 
Encircles them from mortal eye. 

Oh, sure those sparkling heaven-flaws, 
Are gleams of God's blest isles of love ! 

Music oases, where we pause 
In our far voyage to above ! 

With elder angels there we stay, 

Till seraphs come with croT^Tis and wings, 
And wash all earthy soil away. 

And robe us in immortal tliino-s. 

'Tis there they saint us, there they teach, 
What to the higher heaven belongs. 

And gift us with immortal speech, 
And teach us their immortal sono;s. 



150 



THE STARS. 



There, lieal worn memory of her scars ; 

With snowy feet and diamond shod, 
Unhinge the portals of the stains, 

And lead iis to the smiles of God. 

Thus of those flashing isles I deem, 
Those music fountains of the sky : 

They bathe me in a blissful dream, 
Wherem all earthly visions die. 



TO MEETA, SLUMBERING. 

Thy spiritual features 

The stars are imbuing ; 
Those "beauteous creatures ! 

Oh, what are they doing- 
Like exiles so lonely and high ? 
They are quiet beseechei-s, 

And faithfully wooing 
Our spirits to come to the sky. 

The moon-light is sleeping. 

On every billow ; 
Thy blushes are keeping 

Thy soft, snowy pillow ; 
For sweet thoughts are at play in thy heart ; 
And thy dark locks are sweeping, 

Like the boughs of a willow, 
When soft zephyrs wave them apart. 



152 TO MEETA, SLUMBERING. 

Of one tlioii art dreaming, 
Whose heart doth adore thee ; 

His presence is beaming, 
Like magic before thee ; 

He seemeth a dream from above ! 

The futm'e is streaming 
In happiness o'er thee, 

And the ano-els are sinoina^ thee love. 

Oh, false is the beaming, 
And this thou must know ; 

This beauteous seeming 
Will deepen thy woe. 

And thy fancy's sweet visions will break ; 

Oh, why does sweet dreaming 
Woo heaven below, 

Then steal it away when we wake ? 



LINES 

TO MISS BREMER, WHILE IK MOBILE 

Thou liast thouglit, hast thougiit most loudly; 

Thou hast written the siibhme ; 
And thy name is sculptured proudly, 

On the monument of time. 

On thy soul's enchanted pages 

Truths hke li^dng prophets speak — 

Truths which through all future ages, 
Never can be dumb or weak. 

In thy words a beauty hveth, 

Beauty eloquent and high, 
Which a rosy drapeiy giveth 

To my memory's western sky. 



Like a cool, melodious fountain, 

(xushina: in the summer time, 

7 



154 LINES TO MISS BREMER. 

Or a flower-covered mountain 
In a scorching desert clime, 

Are the dreams which thou dost ponder, 
Which are robed in flowing words, 

And which through thy spirit wander, 
Like a flock of singing birds. 

Let thy memory be sheathing 

All thou see'st as thou dost roam. 

So when thou again art breathing 
The sweet atmosphere of home. 

She from her bright jeweled measures. 
Where they've slumbered soft and long. 

May set sail her fairy treasures. 
On the sunny tide of song. 

Mayest thou like bees quaft" honey, 
From the flowers of hope and love ; 

And thy landscape e'er be sunny. 
And thy heavens bright above ! 

And when far away in Sweden ; 

When ^^ith us no more thou art. 
Let the Southern Minstrel-Maiden 

Be a record of thv heart. 



LINES TO MISS D R E M E R 

And when death's dark form Is flinging 
Chilly shadows o'er thy breast, 

May thy spirit, sweetly singing. 
Soar with sainted ones to rest! 



155 



TO PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 

Oh, all on earth that is divine, 

Unto thy memory belongs ; 
For Nature was thy spiiit's shrine, 

And x^ature \drtue never wi'ongs ! 
'Tis man who turns her sweets to brine. 

And maketh of her garlands, thongs : 
Nature instinctively creates, 
And man ^vith knowledge desolates. 

When heart and soul are sw^eetly wed. 
Thence beings beauteous take their birth, 

And, as bright rainbows over head, 

Shower sparkling drops upon the earth : 

Thy lovely, transient genius shed 
The pearls of intellectual worth, 

Wliich, melting into heart and mind, 

Left sunny prints of heaven behind. 



T 



PERCY B V' S S II E 8 II EL LEY. lol 

Of gifted ones tliere are l>ut few 

Who own true virtue for their dower ; 

Thy lieart to goodness was as tme 
As was thy spirit to its power ; 

Thy sympathy was balmy dew 

To many a bosom's withered flower ; 

Too sohd was thy nature's gold, 

To flow through weak deception's mold. 

Alas ! that death should ever take 

A thing so faultless for his prey ! 
The heart to Nature once so wake, 

Wakes never more to night or day. 
Oh ! every heart on earth might ache 

For one who mouldereth in the clay ; 
And were no other spell in Rome, 
It were a spell to be thy home. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO AN AGED FRIEND. 

Thy life-time is now in its even ; 

Hope mouldereth in memory's sod ; 
But the star-beams of faith hght thy Heaven, 

Like the beautiful foot-jDnnts of God. 

Thy 23ast is a sorrowful shadow ; 

Thy spirit feels di'owsy and cold ; 
And its thoughts, like worn flocks from the meadow, 

Steal in and lie down in their fold. 

The river of death in the distance. 

Is heard with a shivering roar ; 
But Jesus, wdth angel assistants, 

AVill clothe thee on Heaven's warm shore. 

There, forever, a glorious immortal. 
Star-mantled, star-bannered, sublime, 

Thou'lt stand at Heaven's high portal. 
To welcome God's soldiers from Time. 



LINES I O A N A G K I) F U i K N Jj . loO 

To welcome them in from the dreary, 

The perilous, desert of life. 
No more to be wounded or weary, 

No more to l>e invaded by strife. 

As reward for their sorrow and duty, 

They'll rove the cool bowel's above, 
And bathe in the i-ivei-s of beauty, 

And feast on the music of lo\e. 



TO THE ESTRANGED ONE 

With eyes in smiles, and souls in dreams, 
Beneath hope's star we met ; 

But now that star so clouded seems, 
It might as well be set. 

My heart was as a summer day, 
Its thoughts were all in tune, 

And thine were like bright wings at plaj 
In the warm light of Jime. 

I wove for thee a soft, sweet song, 
-Tvvas sweet because 'twas true ; 

But now I feel my friendship wrong, 
It was not sweet to you. 

There never shone a day too fair 

For clouds to cross its light; 
And joy's sweet dawn that was so rare, 

Has darkened into nio-ht. 



TO THE ESTRANGED ONE 

Oh, since tlie flowery chord Is rent, 
And cold the heart's warm swell, 

Let all our hitter thoughts be spent 
In that one word — farewell ! 



(J* 



161 



TO MALITE. 

I SING to those in flatteiy 
Whose beauty's incomplete ; 

But I were bhnd to flatter thee, 
When the truth's so very sweet. 

Thou art my lovely favorite, 
My lovely young Malite ! 
My gentle, fair Malite ! 



Beheve thou hast a friend in me. 
One who has loved thee long — 

Whose heart is sad with memoiy, 
Whose spirit is sad with song ; 

For to the soul that feeleth much, 
The world gives many a wi'ong ; 
But not to thee, Mahte ! 



T O M A L 1 T K . 103 

And 1 have siiigl(,'(l tii(;c apart 

Froni all of mortal kind, 
As the bright real of the dream 

That wanders through my mind — 
As one who e'er A\ill prose to me, 

Angehc, fair and kind — 
Angelie, fair Malite I 



TO A HUMMING BIRD. 

Wild fliitterer ! thou dost seem to me 
A spirit from Eternity ; 

A gleaming of immortal things ; 
A \N'inged, transparent, singing thought, 
Flashed from the \jyq by angels wrought, 

And dancino- to then* wino^s. 

Or is this but a wandering, 

A novelty my heart would sing, 

Yet be too wise to deem ? 
If so, how many thoughts hke this. 
Will crowd upon my soul as bhss, 

And make e'en death a dream ! 

If I rove along a misty track. 
Will tamer spuits call me back. 

And mock, and hoot, and blame ? 
No ! let the wanderer explore, 
And seek for thino-s unsouQ-ht before, 

And oive them hfe and name. 



THE WEDDED LOVERS, 

Let us live in yonder bower, 
In yon sweet magnolia dale, 

Where the founts gush uj) and shower 
Mist and miLsic on the gale. 

Hope will never pause in sorrow, 
Limping over memory's thorns ; 

Bhssfully we'll spend each morrow, 
j^s the mock-birds spend the morns. 

We will float upon the river. 

When the moon-iise bhisheth red ; 

While the breezy leaflets quiver. 
Like soft wind-hai-ps over head. 

When the dancing; stars assemble 

Over heaven's azure lawn. 
Memory will wake and tremble, 

With a thouo'ht of loved ones 2:one. 



166 THE WEDDED LOVERS. 

We will wander o'er the mouiitains, 
Thou my eagle — I thy dove ; 

And om- hearts will be full fountains, 
Gushing rhapsodies of love. 

Through the holy night we'll slumber, 

Serenaded by the sea, 
And the di'eams my pulses number, 

WiU be images of thee. 

We mil teach om- httle Willie 
To be lovelier every day, 

And at twihght soft and stilly. 
Teach his lisping ]i^s to pray. 

Feehng happiness in duty. 
Feeling holiness in love. 

We will live a life of beauty, 
Then in beauty soar above. 



LUCY. 

I LOVE her, for she oft has been, 
A rover o'er the rolHng sea ; 

Her heart and soul have felt within, 
True worship to the Deity. 

I love her, for her breezy curls 

Seem waving music roimd her face ; 

A queen would give a crown of pearLs 
For half their grace. 

She is a wild and happy tiling, 
As fickle in her buoyant glee, 

As April breezes, when they fling 

Their freight of fragrance o'er the sea. 

l^ature and heaven are twin, 

And she is theii-s — 
For the angels of the air breathe in 

Her songs and prayers. 



168 



LUCY. 



Then can ye wonder that I love 
A tiling so full of soul and heart ; 

A bird whose pinions grew above, 
Unshorn by art ? 



A DAY DREAM. 
[Dedicated to J. W. F. of St. Stephens, Ala.] 

I went unto an ancient clime, 
I wandered o'er a classic shore, 

Where nature, lonely and sublime, 
Is crowned with lore. 

I knelt where statues, cold and pale, 
Reposed by sweet inspired streams, 

Softly, as if a snowy veil 
Waved o'er their dreams. 

I pondered o'er historic tomes, 

O'er sainted nuns and broken shrines, 

Convents and crosses, and pale domes 
Wreathed in dark vines. 

I saw the grandeur of old Rome ; 
I stood where Alpine tempests beat, 



170 A DAY-DREAM. 

While the deep Rhme heaved its cold foam 
Around my feet. 

I stood where stormy Bonaparte, 

Thundered his cannons o'er the slain ; 

And felt an earthquake at my heart, 
And in my brain. 

Yes, I have crossed the mighty sea, 
Which rolls its everlasting length, 

As though it struggled to be free, 
Yet feai-ed its strength. 



A NIGHT IN JUNE. 

It is a lovely night in June, 
Cloud-bannered marcheth on the moon, 

'Mid her starry troops o'erhead. 
I gaze upon those gloiious clouds, 
And dream that they are royal shrouds, 

To wrap some warrioi-s dead. 

Bright \isions o'er my spirits float, 
Lightly as glides a fairy's boat 

Across a foamy wave. 
Within my heart self feehngs sink, 
Deeply as music, when we think 

Of sweet ones in the grave. 

A waihng wind is in each pine, 
A playful zephyr in each \me, 

A murmur in the mountains ; ' 
And the bright stars in clouds rechne, 
Like laughing hope on memory's shrine. 

Or mist-encircled fountains. 



172 A NIGHT IN JUNE. 

The billows bui'st along tlie shore, 
And rush the sighing sedges o'er, 

Then foamingly retreat 
To that dark, sobbing Evermore, 
The restless ocean, in whose roar, 

Strange truths and mysteries meet. 

A heart seems throbbing in each clod, 
A sonl seems bm'stino; from each sod : 

'Tis an inspired even. 
I feel as though my spirit trod, 
In the rich presence of its God, 

Enbalmed with bliss from heaven. 



OLO AND OZILLO. 

The ocean is lonely, 
The midnight is cold ; 

One star trembles only, 

Through a black vapor's fold. 

A white mantle cover, 
Around her is thrown ; 

And Olo her lover, 
Seeks fearless and lone. 

Like a pale priest of magic, 
She invoketh the air ; 

For her bosom is tragic, 
With a deathly despair. 

A red meteor blazes 

The tempest along ; 
And her wild eye she raiseth. 
And groaneth a song : 

" Oh, murdered Ozillo ! 
Here, here, thou dost sleep. 



1*74 OLO AND OZILLO. 

Where the black-boilino- billow 
Is frothing the deep. 

"No fleet-pinioned swallow 
Hath found thy lost gi'ave ; 

For it darkens the hollow 
Of a ghost-haunted cave. 

" My heart feeleth frozen, 
And strong as the sea ; 

'Tis the night I have chosen 
To come unto thee. 

" Ha ! hush thou mad ocean, 
Beat low, ye loud waves ; 

Let me kneel in devotion, 
Then plunge to your caves." 

A vesper half uttered 

On the cross round her neck ; 

And the strong surges muttered 
O'er beauty's lost -v^Tcck. 

The mountain-hke billow 
Still broke on the shore ; 

But Olo and Ozillo 
Were parted no more. 



A SONG FOR COUSIN SALLIE 

One song for thee before we pait, 

One song — it is the last ! 
'J 'hen I will hush my sighing heart, 

And seal it with the past. 

One farewell, while yon vestal moon 

Retires to the sea ! 
'Tis gone — and oh ! the night too soon 

Has shrouded thee from me. 

The waves are booming to the North : 
Soon on their foaming might. 

Thy ancient vessel wanders forth 
Like a dark ghost of night. i^ 

Come, trace a cross upon the strand, 

And hallow it with tears, 
A token that our love ^tlU stand 

Through tempests and through years. 



176 A SONG FOR COUSIN SALLIE. 

The sea-mist circles dim and damp, 
Around thy queenly brow ; 

And thy dark eye, like memory's lamp. 
Beams palely while I vow. 

Farewell ! why should we longer wait ? 

The morn cannot atone ; — 
Oh ! I must leave thee desolate, 

And rove the world alone. 



OKOLDEE AND OMTAKO ; 



OR, THE DYING INDIAn's FAREWELL TO HIS SON. 



An Indian Wanior was dying. The shadow of the 
hills lay upon his bosom, and mist from a fountain cooled his 
burning brow. The hghtning of vengeance flashed from his 
eye, as, with the strength of despair, he grasped the arrow 
beside him and groaned, " Omtako." A fine boy sprang to 
him like a sun-flash. Omtako, thou art Okoldee's son ; thou 
art the eagle which bearest his strong hopes to the high 
mounts of the future. Thou art the sword wherewith he 
will slay the serpent that crusheth him. Omtako ! the -pale 
face is that serpent. Take this arrow. Smite the forest. 
Follow him. Track upon his step like the wolf, and hiss up- 
on his ear like the \i2Der. Slay him. Take the scalp of the 
pale face, and bring it as a trophy where Okoldee sleepeth, 
and let its gore-drops be dew to the thistle that covereth him. 
Omtako ! Lo, the sun sinks in red glory ! His broad bla- 
zes flash on the black waters like blood. The sea groaneth ; 

8 



1*78 OKOLDEE AND OMTAKO. 

the forest howleth ; nature is strong, for Okoldee dieth ! Be 
proud, Omtako ! and lay hini where the eagle screameth and 
where the tornado thundereth. Hearest thou, Omtako ? 

Omtako heareth and is proud. He will feast on the heart 
of the pale face. He will lay thee in the throne of the tem- 
pest, and be to the shade of Okoldee as the red comet to mid- 
night. 

Farewell, Omtako ! Okoldee dieth ! When midnight cov- 
ereth him he will be cold ; for his spirit will leap the star- 
paths of the hunting grounds. He will remember thee there. 
He will shout thy name in the chase. His deerhounds shall 
be fattened for thy coming; and the dark daughtei"s of the 
great will welcome thee with gladness ! 



SPIRIT HOME OF THE MINSTREL-MAIDEN. 

The angels knew that the child of poesy pined amid the 
simoons and icebergs of reality, and they gave her a home of 
fancy. It is the dream of this mysterious home which forever 
shadows in her spirit with a musing silence. 

Would ye know that home? It is an amber isle in a 
crystal ocean. Its coral mounts are capped with steeples of 
pearl. The odors of its flowers are so exquisite that memory 
swoons when the heart breathes them. The featheiy foilage 
of the quivering groves is wreathed together by seolian lyres, 
woven with ringlets of fancy, and tuned by the breath of mu- 
ses. Its breezes are bursts of music from heaven. Its rosy 
fountains gush from the laughing eyes of marble cupids. 

Its sun-beams are the flashing of silvery pinions. Its sha- 
dows are those of spirits floating through the pearly portals of 
Paradise. Its stars are the eyes of angels bending fi-om their 
cloud-latticed windows to teach her the music of heaven. Tlie 
snowy shells which dimple its mossy strand are the foot- 
prints of fairies. Golden wavelets laugh along its shores like 
immortal serenadei*s from eternity. 



180 MINSTREL MAIDENS HOME. 

Sucli is the spirit-home of the minstrel-maiden. There, 
hke a breezy di-eam she floats on tides of insphation, till, ex- 
hausted >ivith bliss, she sinks to slumber mid dewy roses. 
Then come her sainted twin spuits, and waging theh snowy pin- 
ions, whisper, " The Holiness of Heaven," and singing " The 
Angels love Thee," float back to fan Immortahty. 

Yea, such is her spirit's home. She learns there the wild 
melodies she warbles here. Now wonder ye why she is silent 
and sorrowful 'mid the creatures of sin and death. Nay, be 
generous still, and let the wild spuit of the minstrel-maiden 
float on in her amber isle over the crystal ocean.